Our hares Francis and Galloping Galumpkies, obviously deciding that getting a decent sized pack out to Amsterdam was about as easy as removing Michael Jackson from a kindergarten slumber party, decided to run Hash 62 from an easy to find location in downtown Albany. Unfortunately they didn't find it quite as simple to find a Price Chopper on a "quick" trip to get more beer and drop Poptop's car at the end of the trail . Memo to hares from out of town, bring enough beer next time and if Poptop lives in Albany, maybe you should follow him. And of course, even when you find the "ghetto Chopper" it may only serve 40 ouncers of malt liquor.

The start was therefore delayed by an hour in some delightfully cold, damp weather, but the pack amused themselves by drinking beer, dealing with security guards while hiding their beer, hiding from the returning hares behind a large snow plow and with a rousing rendition of Father Birmingham. Add a campfire and more beer and the pack would have just invited the guards over and stayed put for the day.

Trail finally began as several had predicted by heading straight for Lincoln Park (where shortcutters could be spotted by the amount of mud they'd attracted), then over to the Plaza. Sadly this route avoided running by the governor's mansion. Maybe if big George had come out for "a run and a cold one" the State of the State address would have featured new laws banning beer stores from ever closing and enforcing 24 hour happy hours.

As the pack reached the plaza they were unknowingly close on the heels of the hares, whose narrow escape involved the use of very few trail marks for long enough to lose the pack completely. While Poptop finally found trail, followed at a distance by McCavity and Bodsa, most of the pack hunted in vain for a sign, instead finding an unfriendly member of Albany's finest who further detained them. Meanwhile No Name Craig, obviously trying to again postpone his naming decided to make his own trail and headed for Lark Street.

Finally reunited and without further hindrance from the law the pack raced for a full 30 yards before once again losing trail and wandering aimlessly. This time a missed trail mark in the Vietnam Memorial was the packs downfall, and by the time trail was regained by climbing a barrier (fortunately out of sight of any security) the hares were long gone.

The true trail now led down the long walkway from the plaza to the Pepsi Arena, where beer was conveniently buried in snow at a parking garage. Good move from the hares, the coldest beer ever on trail. By this point most of the pack guessed the run's destination, and despite Poptop's attempts to confuse us we soon crossed the footbridge over 787, where we found a Hash Halt populated by a couple who uttered the immortal words "Are you guys Hashing?". Avoiding the temptation to tell them we were on the Church of God Loves Us and Not You So NaNaNaNahhNahhh annual run for celibacy or doing a "gay men for Bush" fundraiser, we admitted our sins.......... while they confessed to being New York City hashers taking a look at Albany as the weather was too poor to ski. Too poor to ski but not too poor to drink in a parking lot: they quickly took up our offer to join the On-in. From here there was only a short way to the end and the hash plus guests were soon enjoying their beer.

As per usual the first down down was demonstrated by our hares, GG choosing to savour every drop while Francis drank water. While kneeling on his gloves and making GG kneel on the cold ground. Not Coors light, real H20. Fortunately by the efforts of the RA most of this toxic substance was sprayed on the hare or spat at the circle. Next up we recognized our visitors: John from Pittsfield and the Westchester HHH, and our "latecomers" Ann and Wes from New York City HHH. Third to drink was our FRB, McCavity, followed by DAL Bodsa; the two of them showing that the secret to marriage is to keep well away from one's spouse on trail, then get drunk when you have to spend time together.

Next up we had a naming: Craig who had failed to turn up at the last run after trying to rendezvous at the right time but in the wrong place. Under intense questioning he admitted to working for the state, that Don still made him come, and little else. He then demonstrated his favorite sexual position on GG, an impressively athletic upright 69. Upon his being banished to the banks of the Hudson THFKAD admitted to liking Craig’s spike (something to do with volleyball, he claimed) before many names were bandied about, mostly punning his last name: Homo Boch's Orifice, Ahh Boch, Get the Boch Out, Likes to Spike Don, Take Me Round the Boch, Counter Bochwise. A vote by acclamation however gave us two finalists: Don Loves My Spike and Bochman Turned Her Over. To save our sensitive RA's blushes the latter was chosen and our newest namer christened.

As we'd missed out on saluting him at the Jingle Bell, Fliptop Fag was rewarded for returning and attaining the heady mark of 40 home runs, while THFKAD was given accolades for getting to 50 Halvemein runs. Finally we presented our top (or bottom) award, the coveted Hash Shit, to our hare Francis in a near unanimous reaction to his keeping us waiting and multiple minor infractions. Only Dr Queer dissented, having become attached to the award in the many weeks he had "used" it. After this we stunned our visitors with a rendition of a number of our song favorites before retiring disgracefully to the Elbo Room. There much beer and pizza was disposed of before the Hash went in peace. Thanks to John for coming out, and particularly to Ann and Wes whose sightseeing in Albany consisted of a footbridge, the Corning Preserve Parking Lot and the inside of the Elbo Room. Thanks for the beer guys.